


You're gonna go far, Kid

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/M, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, Mafiastuck, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 07:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rose Lalonde is a member of the mob. John Egbert inherited an underground empire. Business deals will be made, smooches will be performed, and babies will be exposed to violence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You're gonna go far, Kid

Your name is Rose Lalonde and you are at the scene of the crime.

Well, you’re pretty far above the scene, and it hasn’t taken place, but that’s rather beside the point.  
You work for a mob called Sburb (not the most threatening name, you realize this,) as their negotiator.

Your most recent assignment is a suave businessman by the name of Mister Egbert, who has unfortunately lost of the favor of Sburb. You are positioned on the highest balcony you could find, decked in a gown that will make you look like just another partygoer once the ball begins. Minus the pistol strapped to your thigh. And the knife in your brassiere. And the stiletto on your ankle…

Beside the point. You arrived an hour early, giving you enough time to charm your way to the upper floor. It wasn’t easy, there are going to be enough high-profile guests at this party that the security was like the bastards from the White House.

_show me how to lie you're getting better all the time_

The first person has arrived- he’s a greasy looking man with a trophy wife hanging off his elbow, and you think you recognize him from the paper. He must’ve donated some ridiculous amount of money to a charity for cancerous homeless orphans or something. 

You wonder what he had to cover up.

Over the next few minutes people trickle through the ornate double doors. All are equally fascinating in their pompousness, but none are who you’re looking for. Just as you begin wondering if Egbert will actually show, the crowd next to the entrance ripples out. Coming in is the man of the night, dressed to the nines in a deep blue suit. He gives a charismatic smile and immediately the handshakes begin, men and women tripping over themselves to touch the guest of honor.

It’s time to move in.  
If Mister Egbert is willing to ‘donate’ some cash to Sburb, it could save his life. Literally.

You wind your way down the staircase. At the bottom you are aggrieved by a waiter who refuses to leave until you take a champagne glass, plastering on a fake smile and vowing to dump it the first chance you get.

(You find a trashcan.)

You slink up to Egbert, tapping his shoulder and giving him a smile that’s only half-forced.

He turns to you and bows. Oh dear, is a dance starting? That might be good for the proceedings, actually. It’s a slow song.

“Greetings, Mister Egbert.” The words slide from your tongue like poison honey, and you prepare to lay your trap.

He gives you a dark look, and rests his hand on your hip. “Miss Lalonde. How nice to see the mob still cares for me.”

Ah. That’s surprising. You thought your name was classified. In fact you know your name is classified, and even the majority of your ‘coworkers’ don’t know it. This will have to be looked in to. “Caring might not be the right word. Perhaps keeping an eye on would fit better?” You say, slipping a hand onto his shoulder.

“Mmhmm. The utter destruction of my business and underground reputations doesn’t mesh too well with ‘keeping an eye on.”

_and turning all against the one is an art that's hard to teach_

“So you know how we work?”

“I have a few friends,” he states bluntly.

You give a tight-lipped grin. His grip on your waist tightens. “Then shall I say it?”

_another clever word sets off an unsuspecting herd_

“No need. I know you want money, and I know I certainly have plenty of it. How much are your people asking for?”

“Two hundred grand,” you murmur, batting your eyelashes.

He bites his lip, and you notice that he has buck teeth. Cute. “I’m afraid that my company is a bit lacking in funds at the moment. You see we recently made a highly decisive investment, and within the year I will have at least quadrupled my share. All we can offer up at the moment is a cool hundred.”

_and as you step back into line a mob jumps to their feet_

“Mister Egbert, that’s half of our asking price. We’re a generous group, so we implore you to-“

He cuts you off, and it strikes you suddenly that he is the head of a highly legal company, as well as a slightly less clean one. His eyes narrow from behind his glasses and he smirks, head cocked ever so slightly to the side. “That’s all I can give, and empty threats simply won’t do. I have better security than Area 51, and better guards too. One hundred thousand is all you will be getting, I’m afraid. My sincerest apologies.”

You scowl because you know it’s true.

_now dance fucker dance, man he never had a chance, and no one even knew it was really only you_

“Watch yourself, Mister Egbert. Sburb does not take kindly to condescension.”

“I say the same, Miss Lalonde.”

You pull your hands off of him as the song ends, and he kisses the back of your gloved hand.

You exit the building.

_and now you steal away take him out today_

“TentacleTherapist here,” you speak into your cell. “Egbert can only offer one hundred grand, says he made some fabulous investment that drained his funds. I would call bs, but he sounded sincere. And anyway, a hundred is more than we’re getting from anyone else. I’d accept the offer.”

A few moment pass before a smooth voice responds. “Good job tonight, TT.” His voice tightens, and you wonder if he’s broken something. “That’s half our asking price. We might be better off taking him out and raiding his place.”

_nice work you did you're gonna go far kid_

“Please, Diamonds. That man knows security like English knows guns. I doubt he would have too much stored in his house,” you reply.

Two minutes pass before you get a response and it’s Spades this time. “The girl’s right, fer once. We’d be better off waitin’ him out. The boy’ll git his money eventually.” You choose not to comment at the jab against you.

All you need to do is wait him out.

_with a thousand lies and a good disguise  
hit em right between the eyes  
hit em right between the eyes  
when you walk away nothing more to say  
see the lightning in your eyes see em running for their lives_

Two months later you recall the events of that night. Egbert still hasn’t shown with the money, and the unanimous decision has been made to post snipers outside of his house- one is you, the other is a man named Jake English who has a trigger finger and a penchant for aiming well.

_slowly out of line and drifting closer in your sights_

He walks out of his house, two security guards on either side. They look burly and almost gray in the evening sun, but their unsettling appearance doesn’t shake your aim.

The man walks precisely three steps ahead of his guards, so you’d better hit him right the first time.

He drifts closer to the center of your sights, and you stare at him without moving. Mere inches before he’s in your crosshairs, he turns and stares at where you know English is. 

Then he turns his gaze on you, cold and unmoving. Then, slowly but surely, he winks. His mouth twists up and the single act is the most confusing act you have ever seen- how did he know where you were? how did he know where your crosshairs were? how, how, how??

_so play it out i'm wide awake it's a scene about me_

He keeps walking, and you lower your rifle. English doesn’t, however, and instead pulls the trigger.  
His bullet misses by millimeters.  
By then it’s too late.

_there's something in your way and now someone is gonna pay_

You curse and click the safety, backing up into the fence around the roof you’re posted on. The guards probably won’t find you, as they’re going in the other direction, but you aren’t taking any chances. You stow the gun in your tote, and descend the building as quickly as you can. Waiting for you is a sleek black car, with a driver by the name of Roxy Lalonde. Oh joy, your sister is driving.

This will be  
fast.

You get back to the base in fifteen minutes, which is no doubt a new record. You brace yourself against the car once you’ve parked underground, and glare up at your sibling. “Roxy, the point of driving is not to,” you choke back a wave of nausea, “break every law against speeding there is.”

She smiles serenely back at you, sipping at the metal canister hanging from her waist. “Sis, drivin’ is for spade!” She blinks. “Speed! You wan’ go fassst, less itta be broing. Bowing, booming,” she tries to correct.

“Boring?” You suggest weakly, hand over your stomach.

“Thas’ tha’ one!”

In three minutes you feel well enough to face the inevitable dickishness of Doc Scratch, the head of Sburb.

“Egbert can only pay-”

“One hundred thousand. I am aware, Miss Lalonde. I am always tuned into the conversations. I am also aware that the assassination mission was a failure. Care to explain?”

You awkwardly bubble out the tale of the wink and how he knew where you were, finishing with “Then English shot at him, and missed by a hair’s breadth.”

Scratch tents his fingers and turns to face the other direction. “Hmm. Troublesome.”

_and if you can't get what you want well it's all because of me_

After a minute he turns to face you again. “You are dismissed.”

“Sir,” you mutter, before turning and exiting. That man gives you the creeps.

The first thing you do is go to look for English, because there is no doubt that he blames himself completely and utterly.  
You check the shooting range first, and to the surprise of absolutely no one he’s there.

“English. English! HEY, JAKE!” you shout, trying to reach him over the sound of his earplugs. He turns to you in surprise, before clicking the safety and hopping down to your level. You glance at his target: a human, with a cluster of holes directly over the brain.

“Hello, Rose. Lovely day, isn’t it? Listen, I wanted to apologize for today- that fellow is disconcerting; my aim was thrown off a trolley, what with his winking and his posh attitude. Perhaps if I was the littlest pinch more focused I could’ve bloody _hit him_ , that sodding piece of…” he trails off.

Jake was friends with Egbert before they chose different career paths. Not different paths, actually, just different titles. Neither of their full time jobs are legal, in any case.  
And you’re willing to bet that English didn’t miss because of the wink. Maybe he hesitated. You aren’t going to say anything.

_now dance fucker dance, man he never had a chance, and no one even knew it was really only you_

Egbert’s money comes by in the next week.  
A month after that another party is being hosted and you need to speak with Egbert about his remaining amount of debt.

This time you will have back up, in the form of a classy friend of yours named Kanaya and her violent girlfriend Vriska. You’re in charge of the mission.

_and now you'll lead the way show the light of day_

The three of you arrive an hour and a half early. Many other people have done the same, and a couple of high-profile bachelors immediately begin flirting- Vriska is being ‘wooed’ by a Russian man, and is doing an admirable job of hiding the twitch in her stabbing hand. Kanaya has someone that looks Hollywood-esque whispering sweet nothing into her ear, and she’s going for the shy dame appearance: blushing and turning away and giggling at all the right moments. You feel as though you have lost this battle. The man who has taken your hand strokes your fingers and whispers something to himself in Spanish- _oh fuck no he did not just say that, abort mission_ \- before complimenting your dress. You bite back the immediate urge to slap him for his dirty mouth, instead grinning tightly and trying not to blow your cover. The ditzy daughters of millionaires did not speak Spanish, even if you do.

Once the doors officially open, Kanaya and Vriska saunter in with hands on each other’s waists. You all discussed this before you arrived- those two are going to be within shouting distance at all times, if such a thing becomes necessary. 

You linger outside a few minutes longer, looking for the telltale blue Aston Martin pulling up. He doesn’t show, so you decide to venture inside. It’s heated in there, and the brisk fall weather is a mite chilly for your taste.

The three of you then spread out, picking up bits and pieces of gossip and news (read: blackmail information.) You willingly take a glass of champagne this time, taking a dainty sip and biting back the inevitable ‘BLUH.’ You are in a role, after all.

_nice work you did you're gonna go far kid_

Egbert doesn’t arrive within the first hour, nor the second. It seems the man has a penchant for being fashionably late, and the only reason your feet aren’t covered in blisters right now is Kanaya’s foresight- she made the three of you pairs of sleek looking shoes that were padded and gelled.

Four hours and thirteen minutes into the proceedings, the man of the minute arrives. He looks ragged- not his clothes or his hair, but his eyes, and you wonder what held him up. People begin the customary swarm, and you see him mentally put on his charming mask.

You linger near the edge of the crowd, and when he finally escapes it you take his wrist and guide him away. “Mister Egbert. Always a pleasure.”

He deflates a little bit, probably thrilled to be away from those sleazy businessmen. “Touche, Miss Lalonde.” You make to continue, but he interrupts you. “Before we begin discussing the, ah-” he looks around quickly, “-matters of our trade, may I request a dance?”  
And before you can respond he gently pulls you onto the dance floor.

The orchestra begins playing a classy piece, and you would take the time to appreciate it if you were not thoroughly confused right now. The dance last time was merely an excuse for the two of you to converse. So why is Egbert dragging you into one now? You try to riddle it out as you automatically place your hand on his shoulder, and stare at the man as you dance.  
You wouldn’t say he’s unpleasant looking. 

In a few minutes the song is over, and you make to head off of the floor. Instead Egbert leans over and your eyes widen and then holy _shit_ he’s kissing you, and his lips are warm and rough and biting against yours, and you’re responding likewise.

_trust, deceived!_

Then you pull away and glare at him, wiping your mouth and trying to pretend that you aren’t weak at the knees. “And what in the world,” you spit the word, “was that for?”

He smirks and changes the topic back to business. “I have the money, if that’s the reason that you ventured to this party. Unless you only came to see me, in which case I suggest that we rearrange our priorities.”

You flush brightly and try to put a scowl on your face. What is he playing at? The last time the two of you met he wasn’t nearly this flirtatious. Perhaps he’s trying to get information out of you.  
Whatever he’s doing, you hate it.  
You hate that you like it, too.

_with a thousand lies and a good disguise_

“That’s good news. I would assume your investment was just as ‘decisive’ as you said it would be?”

“Well… no,” he mutters, blushing faintly. He bites his lip and your attention is drawn once again to his adorable overbite NOPE YOU ARE STOPPING THESE THOUGHTS NOW. “We only doubled our original amount. That’s okay, though, because I have other resources.” The way he says it makes you believe the resources aren’t legal.

“Doubling an investment is never a bad move. How much did you put into this source, anyway?”

“Five hundred thousand,” he states.

You pretend not to be surprised because wow he didn’t act like he made a million dollars.

_hit em right between the eyes hit em right between the eyes_

“When should we expect the cash to arrive?”

He pauses for a moment. “In two or three days, I believe. That is, if the delivery system works right. You know how that is.”

You do, as a matter of fact, know how that is. “Well, it was a pleasure doing business with you, Mister Egbert. Farewell.”

_when you walk away nothing more to say_

You leave the ball, placing your right hand on your lower back as you exit. Kanaya and Vriska should be out soon, that was the signal that everything went smoothly.

You rest against the wall of the building, glaring into darkness. The partygoers in your immediate vicinity flee.

_see the lightning in your eyes see em running for their lives_

The sudden and entirely unwelcome feelings that have flooded your being are distressing. You feel that he’s setting you up for something.  
You feel that you don’t care if he is.

Vriska and Kanaya walk through the double doors a few minutes apart, then they walk up to you. “How’d the ‘exchange’ go, Lalonde?” Vriska asks, waggling her eyebrows.

“Very well. The money will arrive in two or three days, to quote Mister Egbert.”

“Excellent. Shall we go?” Kanaya murmurs, motioning towards the dark Rolls Royce that Scratch decided you three would be using.

“Sure. Who’s driving?”

Vriska raises her hand eagerly. You inwardly groan. She’s only slightly better than Roxy, probably because she knows how to steer.

Later that night you sit on your bed at the base, a book sitting in your hands. You turn the page before realizing that you had not processed the last one, and slam the book shut before groaning.  
You do not like being in love. Especially with a business partner.

_now dance fucker dance, he never had a chance_

How did this happen in only a few meetings? 

You slap a hand to your forehead as you ponder the situation. Even in the cheesiest of romance novels make more sense than this (and you would know, considering how many you’ve read.)

Instead of trying to riddle out the meaning of this you decide it would be good to go to sleep. It’s only 11:00 pm, but you think you’ve earned it.

_and no one even knew it was really only you_

You wake up at 3:00 am, panting and wheezing.

You remember, oh holy fuck do you remember. Before you got tangled up in the mob and its bloody web, you were once a first grader. And before one fellow got mixed with the wrong crowd and inherited an underground empire, he was a first grader too.

You recall fleeting moments that you thought were long forgotten- hanging out underneath the playground during recess, reveling in the friendship of two youngsters and giggling at the older kids and their romantics. Hundreds of other little moments flood back: giving him a shy peck on the check, receiving the gift of knitting supplies from him, using those supplies to modify a stuffed rabbit of yours.

_so dance fucker dance, i never had a chance  
it was really only you_

You know why Egbert- no, his name is John, John Egbert and he was your best friend- was acting like he did. He must have remembered too, and decided that he would trigger your memories as well.

You pick up your cell and send him a text. “John. We were best friends when we were younger, I remembered, and apparently so did you.” Then you wait, the screen glowing lavender in the darkness. The likelihood of him being awake right now is slim to none, and you doubt he will pick up a number that begins with the Sburb code, but you can try.

Your phone vibrates suddenly, and you fumble for the thing before reading the message. “yeah i know. we aren’t little anymore, lalonde. both of us are caught up in gangs. it might be good anyway to meet on terms that don’t involve you packing heat and followed by backup, i’d like to see you out of that dress.” Once you finish reading you blush, and realize that maybe he does like you too, but in a few seconds another text is sent. “oh jeez! that’s not what i meant and you know it.”

That just makes you laugh.

_with a thousand lies and a good disguise_

The next day business proceeds as usual, and you sometimes pause from your sorting of financial records to ponder what exactly is happening to your life.

_hit em right between the eyes hit em right between the eyes_

The day after that his money arrives, all hundred-thou of it. Egbert is not a liar, it would seem. You hope so, at least.

_when you walk away nothing more to say_

On the third day you request a day off, and John calls you. He says that the two of you should meet up, maybe to dinner somewhere.

You both settle on Olive Garden, and he smirks when he sees the faint outline of a pistol sewn into your coat. You respond in kind by mentioning the butterfly knife tucked into his sock, and he just laughs and mutters “Habit.”

_see the lightning in your eyes see em running for their lives_

The rest of the year will pass, and you will continue to go on dates with your gangs number one business partner. God knows that this is the last thing you should be doing, but you don’t care because you hate him, you love him.

On New Years eve you go out to a party as his formal guest, and wake up in his bed.

_clever alibis lord of the flies_

He looks absolutely vulnerable sleeping, and the voice in the back of your head tells you that you should be looking for videocameras and the codes to safes.  
You ignore the voice and go back to sleep.

_hit em right between the eyes hit em right between the eyes_

On June twelfth, he pulls out a plain golden ring and slips it onto your finger.

_when you walk away nothing more to say_

Eventually you and John will propose an official business co-operation movement.  
Scratch will agree that it sounds like an excellent idea.

Year upon years later, you will have a little blond daughter named Casey. The first things she will learn will be sin and mafia, only later learning such petty things as walking and speaking.

And all three of you are happy that way, a little family of evil.

_see the lightning in your eyes see em running for their lives_

**Author's Note:**

> This was a thing I wrote because I had the song "You're gonna go far, Kid" by the Offspring stuck in my head. So yes that is all. Also I am highly aware that this is awful, it's my first fic on AO3.
> 
> I don't know what happened at the end either.


End file.
